Shine Through
by Ciara in cotton socks
Summary: Don Flack gets a new partner and he's not happy. Can he accept Jess's replacement and respect her? Will he put his grief aside before it's too late? And will his new partner finally bring Sheldon out of his shell? Sorry, I suck at summaries! CHAPTER 4 UP!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**A/N: Alright everyone, here we go. A story involving Flack, a new partner, Hawkes and other random things… Yes, I suck at summaries. But please give it a chance… You might be pleasantly surprised!**

**Disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own CSI:NY or any of the characters… Otherwise Jess would not be dead, Flack would not be lonely, there would be a helluva lot more D/L and Adam would be finding more suitable sleeping partners than Stella… *takes deep breath***

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Don stifled a yawn as the car slowed down at a set of traffic lights. He pinched the bridge of his nose and hastily gulped down a mouthful of takeout coffee. He jiggled his foot impatiently and beat a rhythm on the steering wheel with his forefinger as he waited for the red light to morph to green.

"Everything alright, Don?"

Don looked up, surprised. He hadn't realised he was doing anything noticeable. But Lindsay Messer, sitting in the passenger seat beside him, clearly had. She was leaning slightly towards him, brow furrowed slightly, a tiny sliver of white tooth visible as she bit down anxiously on her full bottom lip. Her left hand hovered uncertainly in the narrow space between them, clearly uncertain as to whether she should reach out to him or not. As much to spare her blushes as his own, Don managed a smile and poked at her shoulder.

"Of course, Lindz. Why wouldn't it be?" he teased breezily, glancing out the window and wishing the lights would change so that they could move and he wouldn't be stuck in a car with his best friend's wife, who was one of the few people who knew him. Who would know if something was wrong. If he wasn't coping. "I'm fine."

"If you're sure…" Lindsay said doubtfully, fiddling with the small gold locket dangling from her neck. "Sorry for fussing over you Don, it's these stupid maternal instincts. I can't stop myself from being overprotective. It's just that we're all worried about you over at the lab, the others are expecting a full report on your wellbeing when I get back." She shot him an apologetic smile as the traffic lights flashed green and the car jolted forward. Don forced himself to nod affably.

"I appreciate that Lindz, but really, I'm doing better now. You tell those lovely lab rats to quit mothering me now, 'kay?" Don laughed hurriedly, but it sounded too loud, too contrived in the small space, and there was something far too understanding in Lindsay's grin.

"I'll do my best," she said softly. "But I'm giving you no guarantees. You know how Stella can be."

"That I do."

"She's really worried about you, we all are. Danny especially."

"You've said that already. Lindz, I'm-"

"Fine. Yeah, I think we covered that, too. However, you neglected to mention the fact that you left Danny sitting in the bar for an hour the other day and never turned up like you promised, not to mention that you skipped the Angell's birthday celebrations for Jess yesterday." Lindsay's voice was soft, but she might as well have shouted. It hurt as much as if she had. Don had to clench his fists around the steering wheel and bite his lip to stop himself from swearing or coating Lindsay in bad-quality coffee. He could feel the bite of tears snipping at his eyes as her name echoed in his head, taunting him.

"Don?" Lindsay reached out and patted the back of his hand tentatively. "Don, I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me, I shouldn't have-"

"No problem, Lindz."

"But I-"

"Lindsay, relax. It's fine. _I'm_ fine. Case closed. Now you better get out."

"Don, there's no need for that!" Lindsay exclaimed, looking distraught.

"Ah, but there is, Mrs Messer," smiled Don softly, pointing out the window. "That right there is the NYPD crime lab, and you have a lot of work to do to help me solve this case."

"Oh! Oh, yeah," Lindsay exclaimed with a tiny burst of startled laughter. She unclipped her seatbelt and leaned into the backseat to retrieve her kit. Pointedly avoiding his gaze, she opened the car door. "Th-thanks for the ride."

Without another word, she got out of the car and strode onto the sidewalk, one hand gripping the handle of her large, chrome-coloured kit, the other buttoning her long purple coat right up to her throat. She half-turned towards him, still pulled in to the side of the packed street. Uncertainly, she raised a gloved hand and waved sadly to him. Don immediately felt a pang of guilt. He shouldn't have gotten upset, not while Lindsay was in the car. He should have controlled himself, at least until she had left. She was only trying to be a good friend. Trying to help him. He shouldn't have worried her.

He rolled down the window, wincing slightly as the sharp winter wind bit at his exposed cheeks. He took a deep, steadying breath and called out before he had the chance to stop himself. "Hey, Mrs Messer!"

Lindsay looked up hopefully, brushing a stray strand of light brown hair out of her eyes.

"Thanks for your help today."

A funny expression crossed her face as she took a couple of steps back towards the car. She put her free hand on her hip and reluctantly allowed the slightest of smiles to creep across her tired features. "I was just doing my job, Don," she shrugged. "No big deal."

"Well it makes _my_ job a whole lot easier when you do all that science geek stuff."

"Very funny, Detective Flack. When we get anything on this, I'll send Haylen over to you. You're going to need to get used to her. If the quality of her work's anything to go on, she'll be sticking around. Try not to tease her too much."

"I'll look forward to it. Tell that husband of yours I'll be by later to watch the game. Like I promised."

Lindsay was still smiling as he pulled away from the kerb.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Don was feeling marginally better as he ducked in the door of the precinct, dusting the snow from his shoulders. He was glad he'd managed to convince Lindsay that he was alright. He hated that everyone was so worried about him. Hated thinking that maybe, just maybe, they had good reason.

"Hey Flack, how's the Montrose case comin'?"

"Oh, hey Scagnetti," Don replied, noticing his colleague entering behind him. "Not too bad, actually. We may have a couple of leads, Lindsay Messer's chasing up some prints as we speak."

"Nice," said Scagnetti distractedly, glancing over Don's shoulder. "You- uh, you wanna go grab a coffee or a slice or somethin'?"

Don stared openly at him.

"What?" Scagnetti asked shakily, fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt. "Fella can't ask his buddy out for a bite to eat or-"

"What're you hiding, Scagnetti?" Don demanded suspiciously, eyes squinted dangerously.

"I- uh- n-nothin'." There was no denying it; Scagnetti was definitely hiding something. Don wheeled around, keen blue eyes scanning the dark room. His eyes as they always did, flickered to the desk near the window first. It felt like he'd been punched in the stomach.

"Flack, I'm so sorry."

He barely heard Scagnetti. His heart felt like it was going to leap out of his mouth. Blood pounded in his ears. His hands were shaking so badly the vibrations were travelling up his arms as he thundered through the precinct. He pushed past desks, ignoring the protests of his fellow officers and suspects waiting for booking. The only thing he could focus on was the desk. _Her _desk. Jess's desk.

"Hey. _HEY!_ What the hell do you think you're doing? Get _away_ from there!"

Before he knew it, he was inches from some dumbass rookie's face, panting with exertion and glaring so furiously that the kid looked like he was about to cry. Don ripped the small gilt photo frame with the picture of the two of them inside from his grasp and shoved him angrily into the filing cabinet.

"Who told you you could touch this desk, huh? It's not yours. You don't touch stuff that's not yours, don't you know that? What's your name kid? Who-"

"Flack, leave him alone," Scagnetti interrupted, grabbing his arm.

"Get off me, Scagnetti. I swear, I'll punch you."

"Flack, don't be-"

"He's taking her stuff! It's _Jess's _stuff."

"I know buddy, I know. I was tryin' to soften the blow, I'm sorry."

Don stopped struggling against Scagnetti's vice-like grip. "You-you knew? I mean….. why?"

Scagnetti sighed and gestured to his won desk. Reluctantly, Don sat down. Scagnetti hopped up onto the wood and ran a hand through his short, dark fuzz of hair. "Look, Flack, the bossman asked me to talk to you. He knows you've been doin' it hard so….. Anyway, the point is, he's havin' Angell's desk cleared out. It's been a couple of months and- and he's replacing her."

"He….. he's _what_?"

"We need the extra manpower," Scagnetti explained hurriedly. "And he reckons you need to move on. Thinks a new partner will do you good. Newbie, barely a year out of the academy. Starts tomorrow."

Don smacked his fist against the desk. Scagnetti patted his back gingerly. "So you're telling me that, on top of replacing her, they're saddling me with some trigger-happy rookie with a point to prove? This is ridiculous, I need to talk to someone about this. I'm not having it."

"Aw Flack, c'mon. I hear she's a real hotshot, you should just give her the benefit of the doubt," Scagnetti said fairly, shaking his head of tightly-cropped hair.

"_She_?"

A terrible feeling of cold dread seeped through every pore of his body. How could the boss do this? Didn't he realise that it was just one small step between replacing Jess and forgetting her altogether? And it was a girl….. Why did it have to be a girl? If it had been a guy, he could have punched him. He could have easily gotten on his bad side. But a girl…..

She would replace her. She would slip right into the fold and take over the role as lone girl among the boys. And the rest of the boys would take to teasing her and flirting with her and slagging her off and making smart remarks about her looks. It would be as though Jess had never existed. The very idea made a dull ache pulse through him, affecting each and every fibre of his being. Don rose from Scagnetti's chair.

"I'm going to talk to the LT. I'm not having this. I'm not having some wannabe with practically no experience swanning in here and taking her place Scagnetti. I don't want her replaced. I don't want a new goddamn partner!"

He turned on his heel and strode towards the LTs office, pounding on the door so hard he was sure when he pulled his fist back it would be riddled with splinters. Again and again, but to no avail.

"He's out for the day, Flack," Scagnetti said in a bored voice, leaning against the wall behind him.

Don ignored him and stormed over to his desk, almost sending a disgruntled Martinez flying in the process. He flopped down in his well-worn wooden-backed chair, his hands reaching almost unconsciously for the small framed copy of Jess's academy photo. Her painfully beautiful features beamed up at him, long, dark hair cascading around her radiant face, dark eyes dancing with delight as she grinned broadly out of the photo.

He could sit here for hours, staring. Just looking at her. Jess.

"Detective Flack?" a female voice asked from far away.

He looked up to see a honey-blonde young woman looking down at him, a thick ream of paper clutched to her chest. He didn't recognise her, with her jeans and brown leather ankle boots, a chunky bangle dangling from her thin wrist. He shot her a questioning look, hoping she couldn't see the pain in his eyes.

"Oh… I'm sorry," the young woman said softly. "I'm Haylen Becall, I've got some DNA results that Lindsay said you might be interested in. But I can see it's a bad time…"

Don sighed and forced himself to sit up straighter. He stretched out a hand tiredly to her. "No, no, it's fine. What've you got for me?"

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**A/N: Liking it? Hating it? Want more? I won't know unless you tell me, so you see that little button down there? Press it! Go on, you know you want to…**

**OK, so apart from my blatant pleading, I just wanted to say thanks for reading the first chapter. I know it's started off slowly, but it'll pick up, I promise. Next chapter (if you want one) the new partner will make her first appearance…**

**So PLEASE tell me what you think! Pretty please with Donald Flack Junior on top???**

**Love,**

**Ciara**

**x x x x x **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**A/N:Hi again! So, I should probably have updated quicker, since I'm on my mid-term break from school, but I was sick all last week so I had a mountain of work to catch up on… But I'm up to date now, so to celebrate, here's a new chapter! No Flack in this one, but I promise he'll be back with a bang next chapter!**

**Oh, and I've never been to Riverside Park. I'm sure it's a lovely place!**

**Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the first chapter. For the record, that's: Storywriter, wolfeylady, 00909 and afrozenheart412. All of you have been extremely helpful, your input gives me the confidence to keep writing! Special credit to afrozenheart412 though… I would say you rock my cotton socks off, but I don't have any on… So you rock my furry Ugg boots off! Anyone who's reading and hasn't reviewed yet: there's no time like the present!**

**DISCLAIMER: Please don't make me say it. Just let me be in denial in peace!**

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Riverside Park in Manhattan at night was not the quiet, serene place the name suggests. It was awash with hordes of sweaty, drunken New Yorkers stumbling around, laughing and yelling at the tops of their slurred, intoxicated voices. The stench of alcohol and stale vomit assaulted the nostrils. An uncomfortable feeling crept through anyone unfortunate enough to walk through the park at night sober, almost as though they shouldn't be there. As though a clear head capable of rational thought and worry was something indecent.

Not a fun place to be.

And yet, this was exactly where Dr. Sheldon Hawkes was. It was a Friday night, his only Friday night off for two months. For any other person, this would mean a date with a good bottle of wine in a nice bar or a night on the town, free of responsibilities or inhibitions. It would at least mean a lazy night in front of the TV, armed with a bowl of popcorn and the pay-per-view listings.

But for Sheldon Hawkes, a night off work meant an opportunity for some volunteer work with the Manhattan Pars Medical Unit. His co-workers in the NYPD crime lab loved to chew him out over it, teasing him when he was forced to stifle a yawn or down an extra cup of coffee to keep himself alert, but Sheldon couldn't have cared less. He could easily put up with Danny poking fun at his 'moonlighting' and Stella fussing over his health if it meant he could do this work.

He loved it. It might sound cheesy, but he didn't care. He _did_ love this. Helping people. Saving lives. Doing work that came naturally to him, as automatic as breathing. He loved the feel of the wind against his cheeks as he pedalled along the neat cobbled pathways, the sense of achievement that coursed through his veins as he patched somebody up, even the dull fatigue at the end of the night shift that signalled to him that he'd done something good, something really worthwhile. So what if it was just stitching up a couple of drunk college kids? A patient was a patient.

As Sheldon sat perched on his bike, taking advantage of a brief lull in activity around the park, he gulped gratefully from a paper coffee cup from the all-night diner across the street. It really was good coffee, and it tasted all the better at 2:30a.m, when he was in desperate need of a kick-start. Just as he finished up, his beeper began to vibrate.

Sheldon sighed and tossed his coffee cup into the nearest trashcan: a perfect shot. He extracted his beeper from his belt, scanned the tiny strip of screen for a second, then took off. Within two minutes, he was by the side of a young male suffering from a deep contusion to his head and smelling like the contents of a sewer.

"What's your name, kid?" Sheldon asked, sweeping a strand of sweaty hair from the kid's face. His patient just grunted. "Very helpful."

Without much protest from the inebriated kid, Sheldon managed to get the wound cleaned out and quickly stitched it up. With a final flourish, he removed the thread and smirked down at his handiwork. Almost as good as new. The kid would probably wake up in the morning with a killer hangover and not even notice the tiny white line running along his hairline. His work here was done.

"Alright buddy, you're all set. You can go."

The kid rose unsteadily to his sneaker-clad feet, turned a nasty shade of green and sent a spray of vomit cascading across the frost-tinged grass. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and careered away into the night without a backwards glance.

"Classy," muttered Sheldon, wiping his own hands with a sterilised wipe from his kit. "You're welcome. No problem. Aren't you a real credit to your parents?"

Dumping the wipe, he hopped back onto his bike and continued his rounds of the park. He hunched over the handlebars scrunching down in his jacket. It was getting chilly. Shivering slightly, he skirted around an icy patch and continued to cycle, counting the seconds until he'd be free to enjoy another cup of coffee, a warm shower and a well-deserved date with his bed. Honestly, he loved volunteering, but days like today just made him wonder why he bothered. Drunk adolescents were not exactly the most appreciative of patients.

"H-hey!" a voice called, shaky but determined. "Hey, could you help me? Please?"

Sheldon skidded to a stop, turning in the direction of the voice. For a moment, he saw nothing. And then there was her.

Beneath an elm tree, knees drawn up to her chest, sat a young woman. She had copper-coloured hair, tied in a low ponytail, was of slim build and quite short, five foot three at the most. She was pale, her porcelain skin taking on an almost translucent tone in the light from the streetlamp flickering overhead. Her heart shaped face was dominated by two globelike olive eyes flecked with gold. Her bee-stung pout of a mouth was pulled up into a pained grimace, and a smattering of brown freckles were painted across her slightly upturned nose. Something about her features was intriguing, captivating even. But the thing that really made Sheldon take notice was her laboured breathing, coming in short, sharp gasps.

That and the dark red stain spreading slowly across her abdomen, trembling fingers pressed tight against the blossoming wound.

Sheldon jumped off the bike and hurried over, crouching beside the girl.

"What happened, Miss? Can I see?"

She nodded wordlessly, gingerly picking at her oversized sweater. Sheldon examined her injury carefully, attempting to avoid further discomfort. Every so often during his examination a hiss of pain slipped between the girl's teeth, but she didn't yell once or let a single tear fall. It was a pleasant change from the usual abuse he was subjected to.

"It's just a flesh wound, you don't even need stitches. But Miss, I've got to ask, how did this happen?"

The girl closed her eyes, biting down on her lip as she shifted around. She shivered unconsciously, her shoulders shaking violently.

"Here, here!" Sheldon exclaimed, shrugging out of his jacket. "Put this under you, you'll catch your death! It's freezing!" He helped her to slide the material under her crouched form, holding her hand. She gripped his tight, whitening even further with the effort of exertion. "Miss, I know it hurts, but I need you to tell me what happened."

She bobbed her head, waves of auburn hair bouncing, and took a deep breath as Sheldon moved in to clean the wound. "There- uh, there were three or four of them," she started. Her voice was faint but surprisingly calm, ringing out along the deserted walkway. "Guys. College students I think, but I can't be sure. They were pretty damn drunk, I was surprised they could still stand. A-anyway, one of them started trying it on, showing off in front of his buddies. I-I let him know I wasn't interested, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. He kept pushing himself on me, and I could smell his foul breath, and I told him to back off and- well, I didn't realise he was still holding a beer bottle until I felt it between my ribs. He dropped it when they ran off, it's still over there." She pointed with a trembling finger at a broken piece of glass winking up at them from the frosty ground, the jagged edge dredged with her own blood. Sheldon couldn't blame her for looking away.

"I see. Did you happen to get a look at your attacker?"

"Oh, I don't want to press charges!" she exclaimed. Sheldon stared at her, perplexed.

"But Miss, he attacked you. Don't you want him to be punished?"

"He was drunk, he didn't realise what he did. I doubt he even knew the bottle was in his hand. Besides, I'm alright, aren't I? No point clogging up the system with a report that'll never amount to anything remotely resembling a conviction since I didn't get a proper look at the jerk," she said fairly, shrugging her shoulders until a sharp gasp cut her off.

"Still hurting?"

"It's fine," the girl said bravely, though she was clearly in pain.

"Sure, and I'm Brad Pitt," Sheldon teased.

"Ha- ow. You know what? Don't make me laugh," she winced, smiling through the pain.

"No problem. Here, let me see if I've got something for that ache," offered Sheldon, rooting in his kit. He pulled out a small white pill and a half-finished bottle fo water, offering them to her apologetically. "Sorry I don't have anything else."

"No, no, this is perfect thanks. I'm really not in a position to be all that fussy, am I?" the girl smiled, popping the tablet in her mouth and taking a healthy gulp of water, eyes closed as she drank. Her feathery lashes brushed her cheeks. She shivered self-consciously, curling up in her sweater. "It's cold," she observed.

"Yeah," Sheldon agreed. "But then, it _is _almost 3:30 in the morning… in the middle of November. Speaking of which, do you mind me asking what on earth you're doing in the park at this hour? Cos you seem far less… drunk and disgusting than every other patient I've tended to tonight. Which begs the question- why are you here in the freezing cold, alone, when you should be out partying the night away, or at least sleeping safely in your bed where you couldn't get hit on by bottle-wielding drunks?"

She smirked, a deep flush creeping across her pale cheeks. "Guess I deserved that," she cringed. She gestured to her clothes by means of explanation. "Jogging."

"Jogging?" Sheldon couldn't disguise the note of incredulous humour in his voice.

"Yes, jogging," the girl said defensively, tightening her ponytail. She rolled her eyes as he continued to smirk at her. "Look, I've just moved to New York. I'm starting my new job tomorrow, so I couldn't sleep. Too excited. I mean, it's been my dream job since I was a little girl, right up there with being an astronaut and Supergirl. So I figured it would be a good idea to go for a jog, help tire me out so I could get some sleep… Wait- I will still be able to start work tomorrow, won't I? I mean, I-I won't need to go to the hospital or anything, right? Cos I need this job, it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportun-"

"Breathe," Sheldon reminded her, waving a hand in front of her face. "Don't worry, you can still start work tomorrow. You don't need to go to the hospital, just keep the dressing clean and change it every couple of days until the scar heals up. And next time you're thinking of going jogging this late ona Friday night, please don't."

"Trust me, I won't be making _that_ mistake again," she said sheepishly.

Sheldon smiled as he finished taping up the long, angry-looking cut, then got to his feet and stuck out a hand to help her up.

"Thanks," she grinned brightly, picking his jacket up off the ground. "Oh… sorry about this. It's kinda wet."

"Don't worry about it," Sheldon shrugged nonchalantly, tossing the jacket over his shoulder.

"Thank you again, Doctor…" she trailed off, glancing at him expectantly with those vivid green eyes.

"Hawkes."

"Well, thank you, Dr. Hawkes," she dimpled, reaching out with a manicured hand and pumping his energetically.

"No problem, that's what I'm here for," smiled Sheldon warmly. "Now, could I get your personal details? For the forms, I mean. It's procedure… when our patients are sober and coherent…"

She beamed and took the forms and a chewed-up black ballpoint pen, a slight crease puckering her brow as she filled in her details quickly and efficiently. With a final flourish on her last initial, she screwed the lid back on the pen and handed it, along with the clipboard, to Sheldon, a grateful smile playing on her lips. Sheldon scanned her particulars to ensure everything was all in order.

"Well, that's all in order Ms… uh, Ms Fitzgerald."

"Ella," she corrected automatically. "Ms. Fitzgerald is my great-aunt. And before you ask, yes, I am named after the famous jazz singer. My parents are real swing enthusiasts."

"Alright then Ella," Sheldon laughed. "You're free to go."

"You make it sound like I've been arrested," Ella joked, stifling a yawn.

"Looks like your jogging trip did it's job," teased Sheldon.

"I guess so," she admitted weakly. "I'm going to get a cup of coffee and then hail a cab back to my apartment. You know any good places around here?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Rossi's, right across the street. Best coffee you'll get at this hour, and the staff are really friendly. Tell Mama Rossi Sheldon sent you and she'll probably throw in a muffin free of charge."

"Great, I'll try that then," Ella beamed, turning on her heel and striding towards the park exit in her tight-fitting running leggings, trainers and huge grey sweater. For a moment Sheldon hesitated, then-

"Hey, Ella?" She swivelled around at the mention of her name. "Good luck with the new job. It must be really great if you rank it alongside Supergirl, though I have to say I'm more of an Incredible Hulk man myself."

Her glowing smile and silvery laugh remained in his mind long after she left him alone in the park…

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**A/N:OK, so admittedly not my best work. But I had to get Hawkes in there somewhere, he'll become more important later in the story. For all you Flack-lovers out there, he'll be back next chapter to meet his new partner…**

**Like it? Hate it? Indifferent? Have a comment/idea/anything to note? You know what to do: REVIEW!**

**Love,**

**Ciara**

**x x x **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**A/N: I am officially the worst author ever. I wrote two chapters of this, then put it on hiatus… It nearly became permanent too, but then a couple of people started asking questions and I got the bug again! I apologise profusely for the HUGE gap between updates… *smacks self across wrists***

**Anywho, much love for the following people who reviewed since the last update: afrozenheart412, Storywriter, You can't rush science., hope, RyderBPD and Dana. Please keep the reviews coming, I love them!**

**So, on with our not-so-thrilling (not yet, anyway) tale…**

**Kisses,**

**Ciara**

* * *

_Beep beep beep beep._

With a muffled groan, Ella reached out and slapped blindly at the alarm clock perched on her bedside locker. For a moment she lay in complete silence, face buried in the comfortable familiarity of her teal-coloured pillowcase, arms drawn up above her head. Then she remembered what day it was.

"Crap," she muttered wildly, toppling out of bed and onto the cold wooden floor. "Crap, crap, crap, crap, CRAP!"

In a whirl of pale skin and auburn hair, she made a break for the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the closet as she went. She showered as quickly as was humanly possible, manically massaging mango and ginger shampoo into her scalp and rinsing it out without pausing for breath. She wrapped herself in the fluffy peach-coloured towel and scuttled into the small neat kitchenette, hastily gulping down a mug of instant coffee so fast her throat burned.

Then she hurried into her bedroom again, struggling into a pastel-striped matching bra and panties set. At the same tie, she searched frantically in her wardrobe for the outfit she'd chosen so meticulously before her ill-fated jogging trip the night before. Jeans, sweaters and coats were sent flying as she whipped through the rail with lightning speed, eyes wild with panic.

Five minutes into her hunt, she remembered that her clothes were hanging in a garment bag on the back of her door for safekeeping.

_Damn, _she thought, rubbing at the neat white square of dressing taped to her stomach. _Whatever that doctor gave me to stop this thing from hurting, it's fried my brain to mush._

As she rushed to fetch the garment bag, she grabbed a small handtowel from the closet and rubbed desperately at her long stubborn curls, the colour of old pennies, which were still dripping resolutely all over the floorboards. Draping the garment bag over one arm, she flipped her head upside down and towel-dried her hair with ferocity, hurrying blindly back to her bedroom.

_Thud._

The carefully-pressed outfit and damp towel fell to the ground, unceremoniously dumped.

"OW!" Ella screeched, hopping on one foot. "Ow, ow, ow! Stupid saddle!"

She danced about, clutching at her stubbed toe and shooting murderous glances at the offending door saddle, the slight hump of wood at the base of the doorframe. Wobbling precariously, she used one arm to balance, waving it wildly as the other hand clutched her red-tinged big toe. She toppled to one side, attempted to maintain her balance and ended up in a crumpled heap on the floor.

She sat there for a moment then reluctantly clambered to her feet in front of the window. To her surprise, a middle-aged man in the opposite apartment block was standing with his face inches from his window, staring at her with wide eyes and wearing a grubby string vest and bright red y-fronts.

"What're you looking at?" she murmured, looking back at him. And then she remembered. Underwear. "Ugh!"

She closed the white slats of the Venetian with a snap, cringing, and glanced at the clock. Great. If she didn't hurry up, she'd be late for the first day of the rest of her life.

After what seemed like hours of supreme effort, she managed to dress herself and do something about the wild bushfire that was her hair. She stepped in front of the full-length mirror she'd bought yesterday after finding the one in her 'fully furnished' apartment without a square inch of crack-free glass. She smiled, finally satisfied. A petite, determined young woman beamed back at her from behind the glass. Her long, unruly waves of hair were tied back in a loose ponytail and she wore no makeup, her skin porcelain white. A light mint-green sweater clung neatly to her curves, the v-neck plunging slightly but not enough to attract unwanted attention. The faint outline of a pair of dog tags was visible beneath the thin wool fabric. She wore charcoal-grey trousers with the faintest of pinstripes. A silvery-grey scarf hung loosely around her delicate throat. Shoes had been the biggest problem. What exactly constituted sensible footwear in this job? After running through every pair of shoes in her possession, Ella decided that a pair of chunky-heeled black shoe-boots were safe, if not overly exciting. Just like her.

She grabbed her badge from the counter as she passed and headed out the door with a black military-style jacket tossed over her arm. She took one look at the 'Out of Order' sign on the elevator doors, growled impatiently and took off down the stairs in a clatter of heels.

Out on the street, she hailed one of the famous yellow New York cabs, directing the driver as she clipped the precious badge to the belt loops on her trousers. The New York streets flitted by in a blur of colour; she was too excited to really see them.

Before she knew it, the cabbie was pulling in, twisting in his seat to look expectantly at her. She fished out the fare on autopilot and ducked outside. The building loomed before her, huge and imposing yet somehow so perfect it made her stop, her breath catching in her chest. This was it. The big one. Her dream. She scrabbled for the tags hanging from the silver chain, finding calm in the familiar series of indentations. Her eyes closed and she drew in a deep breath, the cool morning air sliding down her throat.

_Well, _she thought, clutching her jacket to her chest. _Here goes nothing._

* * *

"Hey, can I help you?"

Ella looked up, startled, to see a sallow-skinned Latino detective with a slight paunch looking down at her.

"Oh, I get it. You're the new detective." It wasn't a question. Ella nodded, confused.

"How did you…?"

"Well, the badge _is _a bit of a giveaway."

"Oh." God, how stupid could she sound? "Yeah, I guess it is. Fitzgerald, just transferred in from Charlotte, North Carolina."

"Scagnetti," he grinned, pumping her hand. "Welcome to hell."

"Hell?" exclaimed Ella indignantly. "This is my dream job! It's my little slice of heaven."

"Come back to me in two weeks and tell me that, I'll give you a hundred bucks," Scagnetti joked with a throaty chuckle. "I'm just kiddin', you'll be fine. Just remember the basics- we take turns to get the morning coffee, don't interrupt the bossman unless it's an emergency and don't take the jelly doughnut from the box or Martinez will eat _you_ for breakfast."

"I think I can manage that," Ella grinned.

"Oh, and be prepared," Scagnetti added as an afterthought.

"For what?"

"Well, you're the only girl here, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Actually, I hadn't," said Ella, surprised. "Huh. Weird. There was a handful of us back home."

"Well you ain't in Kansas no more," chuckled Scagnetti. "You'll be fine. Just ignore any crass comments, some of the guys are kinda dumb about the whole thing. But it shouldn't be too bad as long as you don't take any crap from anyone. They're used to having a sole bottle of Dom Perignon in the crate of cheap beer." Suddenly, Scagnetti broke off. His face fell and something inside him shut down. Ella stared openly at him, perplexed.

"What do you mean?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"It's nothing. Just… nothing."

"Oh. Alright then." She couldn't disguise the pathetic note of hurt filtering through her would-be nonchalant voice.

"Look, I don't want you to feel awkward. It's your first day." Scagnetti's voice was pleading.

"I already feel awkward because you're keeping something from me, and I hate being out of the loop. What am I missing here?"

"Alright, alright," Scagnetti sighed heavily. "Listen, it's not the first time we've had a lone girl working in the precinct. The officer you're replacing, Detective Angell… She was killed in the line of duty a month ago."

"Oh God," gasped Ella. "I didn't… I mean- what happened?"

"She was escorting some piece of slime to give testimony against his old man. They stopped for a bite to eat at the diner across from the courthouse and some assholes drove a jeep through the window. She went down fighting, but she never stood a chance. We were all pretty cut up about it. Jess was a great officer, and a great person…"

"I… I'm so sorry," Ella said softly. "I- I didn't… They didn't tell me."

"I know, and I'm sorry to tell you like this, but you needed to hear it before- before you met Flack. Jess was his partner, you know? They were… close. Sometimes, it was like they were two parts of the same person. He took it so hard when she… Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is, if he's a bit dwon, a bit short with you, it's just cos he's grieving. Try not to take it personally."

"I will… Th-thanks for telling me, Scagnetti. I- I had no idea she was dead, I just figured someone had retired or something… Heck, I didn't even know she was a _she_."

"Well, I guess now you do," smiled Scagnetti softly. "And unless you hurry up, you'll miss your first callout as part of the NYPD. Flack usually likes to take the first case that comes in."

"Sounds like my kinda cop," she grinned, and the cloud of sadness that had been looming over them since the mention of Jessica Angell's passing dissipated instantly. "So, where might I find my new partner?"

"He's at his desk, right over there." Scagnetti pointed with a jerk of his ink-stained thumb and Ella followed his line of vision. A tall, dark-haired detective was sitting slumped at his desk, filling in some tedious early-morning paperwork. He was wearing a dark long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans, his badge hanging from a thin leather chord around his neck. Even at a distance, Ella could see the piercing blue of his burning gaze. He was weary with the weight of the world.

"Guess I should go introduce myself," she shrugged. She shook Scagnetti's hand warmly. "Thanks for getting me up-to-date."

"Any time," he replied. "Let me know how ya get on, OK?"

"You got it," Ella agreed with a bob of her head. Scagnetti filtered away, no doubt to fill the other detectives in on Detective Angell's replacement.

_Well, here goes nothing._ Ella thought apprehensively. She clutched her jacket tighter to her chest and made her way warily through the hub of desks. The precinct was already a hive of activity, even at this early hour, and she had to squeeze past a couple of flustered rookies attempting to subdue a struggling, clearly inebriated, perp. Finally, she came to a stop beside the raven-haired officer. He didn't look up. Ella coughed nervously to announce her presence.

Nothing.

She coughed again.

No reponse.

"Uh… Detective Flack?"

His blue eyes flashed up to meet her green ones. He looked her up and down, then looked back into her eyes uncomprehendingly.

"I'm Detective Ella Fitzgerald. Your new partner."

* * *

**OK, so I know it was short… But this was really just a filler to get things up-to-date and introduce Ella a bit better. Next chapter, thing will get more interesting. It's Ella's first callout, which means she'll be meeting the CSIs…**

**Please review!!! I live for CONSTRUCTIVE criticism, ideas and suggestions… So go on, press the little button down there… You know you want to!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**A/N: I'm back again, and imp****roving my update time I think! Thanks for bearing with me…**

**Many thanks to the following AMAZING reviewers: ioanhoratio, RyderBPD, CSINYPacker012, afrozenheart412 and You cant rush science. I really appreciate your feedback, so keep up the good work and the rest of you- take note!**

**Here in Ireland, it's Seachtain na Gaeilge, which is a week when we try to respect and make full use of the Irish language. As such, I thought it fitting to include both the Irish and English version of the lyrics I'm using. They're from 'Heroes or Ghosts' ('Taibhsí nó Laoich' in Irish, and it's even more haunting that way) by the incredible The Coronas. Please look them up, they really are wonderful!**

**DISCLAIMER: If I owned CSI:NY, why would I be writing **_**fan**_**fiction? I only own Ella…**

**Kisses,**

**Ciara**

* * *

_**So here we go - heroes or ghosts - one man's mood can break another man's soul  
Or am I just too cynical for my own good, too scared to say, we'll get there if we should  
And you know, yeah you know, it's harder than it looks, yeah it's harder than it looks  
But I know, it's gonna take a lot of time and a little bit of luck**_

_**Seo muid réidh – taibhsí nó laoich – scriosfadh aoibh fíor anam an té**_

_**Nó an bhfuil mé ró ciniciúil ar mhaithe liom fhéin, buartha le rá, lig cinniúint an béim**_

'_**S ba léir, ba léir, 'sé deacair dúinn a rá, 'sé deacair dúinn a rá**_

_**Ach is léir, 's léir dom go nglacfaidh sé go leor am agus beagáinín ádh**_

* * *

It took all of five minutes to realize that things weren't going to run as smoothly as she had hoped in New York.

"I'm driving," Flack snapped, leaping to his feet as soon as their first callout came in over the precinct's radio system.

"Fine by me," Ella agreed amicably as she followed hastily in his wake, eager to experience her first New York crime scene.

"I wasn't asking permission."

Ella felt the grin slide from her face and her cheeks flushed red. She put on her jacket and hurried towards the swinging precinct door through which Flack had disappeared, feeling thoroughly disgruntled. Scagnetti caught her eye as she passed and she grimaced at him. He winked and mouthed 'chin up', and Ella smiled in spite of herself. Feeling slightly more content, she jumped into the waiting squad car and fastened her seatbelt.

"So… what are the CSIs like?" she asked tentatively.

"You'll see for yourself when you get to the crime scene."

"I suppose I will. Anything I should know before we get to the scene?"

"Didn't they teach you anything wherever you were last?" Flack asked impatiently. "I'm your ranking officer today. So do what I tell you and then stay the hell out of my way. Think you can manage that?"

"Yeah," Ella said softly. "I guess I can."

She curled towards the window, pressing her flaming cheek to the chilled pane. Her fingers curled tightly around the familiar form of the dog tags dangling from her neck. Flack didn't put on the radio or any music. The short drive to the crime scene passed in a tense, stony silence.

When they arrived outside the tiny bodega, there was a veritable sea of people clamoring for a prime view behind the yellow crime scene tape. Ella felt a surge of excitement, despite Flack's surly presence. Her first case in the Big Apple.

"So what do you…"

Flack flashed from the car in the blink of an eye.

"… want me to do first?" Ella finished lamely. A surge of irritation bubbled through her, but she was determined not to let Flack get to her. After all, it was like Scagnetti had said; he was still grieving, she shouldn't take it personally.

But that didn't make it any easier.

Heaving a sigh, she levered herself out of the car and followed Flack under the tape. He showed no sign of having seen her.

"I'm just going to start taking witness statements."

"Fine by me," Flack growled. Ella couldn't help herself.

"I wasn't asking permission."

She thought she saw the ghost of a smile cross his face, but when she looked again it had been replaced by the hardened scowl she was already used to. He stalked off to speak to a uniformed officer standing a little way away, leaving Ella to her own devices. Determined to be as professional as possible, she set about separating the genuine witnesses from those just hoping to get themselves on TV.

It was a pretty open-and-shut case, or so it seemed. The tiny bodega, owned by the small, round and hysterical Mrs. Lucchesi, had opened up early this morning as it usually did. Larissa Corbett had stopped by with her kids before school to pick up some lunch treats, while middle-aged Mr. Timothy Gautier had required a bag of cat food for 'Snowy, Linus and Colonel Fibmeister the Third'. As it was the early shift, there was only one employee on duty- the vic, Alex Hernandez. The reports from supposed witnesses varied greatly; some said the perp was tall and broad, others short and skinny. Some argued that he was wearing a balaclava, others said he was bare-faced. The one fact they all seemed to agree on was that the male perp had entered the bodega, walked directly up to the counter and calmly shot Alex Hernandez in the head. Which might have been helpful, if half of the 'witnesses' hadn't been lying through their teeth. Thankfully, Ella had a good instinct for truth, so she felt she was fairly capable of dividing the genuine from the posers. Or at least, she hoped she did.

She sighed and waved away the last credible witness, an acne-coated paperboy. She flicked longingly through page after page of carefully transcribed notes, hoping something helpful would leap out at her.

"How's it going?"

Ella looked up, startled, to see a petite young woman with chin-length brown hair smiling amusedly at her. She was wearing latex gloves and clutched a silver forensics kit in one hand. The slight curve of a post-pregnancy bump rounded her stomach gently.

"Lindsay Messer, nice to meet you," she grinned warmly. "First day?"

"Is it that obvious?" laughed Ella. "I'm Ella Fitzgerald."

"Jess's replacement, right?"

"That's me."

"Well, I'm sure you'll be just fine. Everyone will get used to you soon enough."

"I doubt it," Ella murmured distractedly, her eyes locked on Flack's back. Lindsay followed her gaze and a knowing expression crossed her kind face.

"Hey Danny!" she called. "Get over here."

A handsome CSI with sandy hair and scruffy stubble dotting his impressive jaw line wheeled over in a wheelchair. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and a curious expression.

"What's up, Montana?" he asked. He had a strong Staten Island drawl.

"Danny Messer, meet Ella Fitzgerald. Don's new partner," Lindsay added as an afterthought. "Ella, this is my husband, Danny."

"Nice to meet you," beamed Ella, pumping Danny's hand energetically.

"You too. How ya getting' on in the Big Apple?"

"That's what we were just discussing," Lindsay interjected helpfully. She turned seriously to Ella. "The guys at the precinct are all really great, you'll fit in soon enough. It'll all be fine."

"I'll believe that when I see it," sighed Ella.

"Trust me, I know. I transferred in from Montana a couple of years back to replace Aiden Burn. She was a real favorite in the lab, a firecracker so I'm told, and _some people_-" she poked Danny playfully- "didn't take too kindly to me at first, did they, Danny?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill," he grinned cheekily. "I was an ass at first but then your winning Montanan personality made me see the light and the girl behind the wheatfields."

"And it's ended with a ring on my finger and a little _angel_ named Lucy, who's currently driving her sitter insane," Lindsay finished happily. "So you see Ella, Don'll come round. He's not usually a jerk. Well, not much of one anyway."

"Like I said," murmured Ella sadly. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"Ya want me to have a word with him?" Danny asked. "If he's bein' too hard on ya, that's not on."

"No, no, don't do that!" said Ella quickly. "I don't want him to think I go tattling like some bratty preschooler at the first sign of trouble. No, I'll just have to prove myself to him on merit alone."

"Sounds like a good plan," agreed Lindsay. "Come with us, we'll introduce you to Adam and Stella."

Ella nodded and followed Lindsay and Danny inside the bodega, where two more CSIs were busily photographing and processing the crime scene. The woman was beautiful, tall and olive-skinned with a mane of perfectly-coiffed curls. She stood up as they approached and Ella saw that she was wearing a sleek, form-fitting black trousers and a sweater in palest blue. Her companion was dusting the surrounding area for prints, his brow furrowed with concentration. A shock of auburn hair coated his head and matching stubble dotted his jaw line. He was wearing a blue-checked shirt, jeans and a pair of well-worn Converse.

"Hey Stel, anything new?" called Danny, wheeling over to her.

"Apart from the fact that your skills with that chair are getting progressively pathetic, you mean?" she asked in a voice dripping laughter.

"Don't get cute with me Bonasera," Danny growled. "I'm a whiz, me."

"Could you two please try to be less embarrassing?" teased Lindsay. "The new girl is going to think we're a bunch of weirdos."

"New girl?" the woman named Stella asked interestedly, craning her neck to see around Lindsay to where Ella was standing uncertainly. "Oh, I see. Stella Bonasera, pleased to meet you."

"Ella Fitzgerald, and the pleasure is all mine. Detective Crawford spoke very highly of you back in Charlotte."

"Oh, you know John!" exclaimed Stella delightedly. "Well, welcome to New York. Are you settling in alright?"

"I'll tell you once I catch my breath," Ella laughed. "And… uh, who's your friend on the ground?"

Danny sniggered as the scruffy ginger investigator jumped, startled, and blushed a spectacular shade of red. Lindsay took a retaliatory swipe at her husband's head, but he swerved and stuck out his tongue cheekily.

"Are they always this childish?" Ella stage-whispered with a smirk. Stella swallowed a laugh and offered her co-worker a hand to help him to his feet.

"So Ella, this is our resident A-V genius, Adam Ross."

"Uh, n-nice to meet you," Adam stammered. He stuck out his hand and Ella shook it eagerly. She could feel the small round scar of a cigarette burn in his palm, but said nothing about it.

"You too," she said warmly. "So, got any leads for me?"

"Not much, I'm afraid… We know that the till was left untouched, so whoever killed Alex Hernandez wasn't after money.

"The plot thickens…" Ella grinned wryly. "I should have known my first case wouldn't be that easy. Have they got any CCTV footage we can use?"

"They've already sent it over to the lab, I'm going to get onto it as soon as I get back."

"Great! Well, as soon as you know anything, fill me in, OK?"

"No problem."

Ella grinned and nodded approvingly at Adam. It seemed that, despite Flack's disapproving presence, she might fit in alright here after all.

As though he had heard her thoughts, Flack appeared at Stella's shoulder.

"What've you got for me, Stel?" he asked in a low, guttural growl.

"As Adam was just telling Detective Fitzgerald here, the motive wasn't robbery. We've got a whole heap of prints to run, plus some potentially useful footage from the CCTV cameras in the bodega," supplied Stella. "The quality might not be great but…"

"It's all we've got," Flack sighed tiredly. "Got it."

"Our witness's statements have given us a rough description of the perp, if that helps," said Ella hopefully. Flack flicked his head as though dislodging an irksome fly at the sound of her voice.

"It doesn't," he said coldly. "We need more than what some over-excited busybodies _think_ they saw. There's something called _evidence_. Didn't they teach you that wherever-the-hell you said you worked last?"

"Charlotte," Ella said in a soft voice.

"What?"

"I said, I worked in Charlotte," she continued in a stronger voice. "And for the record, I had a good rep. One of the best in the force. So yeah, they taught me. And they taught me that witness statements can be very useful indeed, But you know that already _Detective_. And you know I'm right. Would it kill you to admit that I'm actually not that bad?"

Flack opened his mouth, but shut it again without speaking. He looked like a goldfish. His piercing blue eyes flashed furiously for a brief moment, then he turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving Ella standing in the midst of the astounded CSIs.

"I-I shouldn't have snapped," she said faintly, running an anxious hand through her mane of copper curls. A dull flush crept its way across her cheeks and her breathing came in labored pants. "I just… I'm a good cop. I just wanted him to see that. Dammit, I've probably blown any chance of making him respect me now."

"Don't be so sure," Stella soothed. "Don admires tenacity, even if he won't admit it. And you seem to have that in bucketloads."

"Tenacity?" Ella groaned with a hollow laugh. "More like pig-ignorance… Jeez, I have to share a car with him back to the precinct!"

"Now _that _might be a problem," Lindsay agreed, coming over to stand beside Ella. "Tell you what, why don't you ride in with us? Danny can go with Don, can't you cowboy?"

"No problem," Danny nodded fervently. He dropped Ella a consoling wink. "I'll sort him out for ya."

"No, I-"

"Relax, I can be very subtle when I want to be."

"Yeah, subtle like a steel freight train," Lindsay murmured.

"What was that, Montana?"

"Nothing," she replied innocently, grinning maddeningly at him. "Now, get after Don. Come on, Ella."

And before anyone could utter another word, she had taken Ella by the elbow and was leading her towards a large silver jeep, Stella and Adam following in their wake.

As they drove along the bustling city streets, Ella couldn't help feeling awful.

"Thank you so much," she said for the umpteenth time as they pulled up outside the forensics lab. The others stared at her, nonplussed. "For putting up with me. It… it's just been a really crappy first day, you know?"

"Don't worry about it," smiled Lindsay. "You just didn't gel with your partner. My first day after moving here from Bozeman, I managed to make my _boss_ think I was a goody-two-shoes brown-noser. I thought I'd never get him to like me, but things worked out alright."

"I somehow managed to trip _up_ the stairs on my first day," Stella grimaced, shuddering at the memory. "Evidence bags _everywhere._"

"That's nothing," Adam chimed in. "I sent my lab station up in flames."

"You know what?" Ella giggled. "Suddenly, I don't feel so bad." A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"That's better," Lindsay grinned. "Hey, why don't you come to me and Danny for dinner tonight? We can fill you in all you need to know about the city that never sleeps!"

"Are you sure?" asked Ella doubtfully. "I wouldn't want to intrude…"

"Of course!" exclaimed Lindsay. "Come on, Danny makes the _best_ lasagna going- but don't tell him I said that. He'll get a big head."

"Well, if you're sure…"

"Honey, Lindsay doesn't say anything unless she's absolutely positive," Stella told her.

"Well then," beamed Ella. "Dinner sounds great!"

* * *

A couple of hours later came the day's real surprise.

Ella had spent most of the day hiding out in the lab, avoiding Flack. Whatever the others had said, she didn't want to see him for the moment. She didn't want to see him until she was one hundred per cent certain she could keep her temper in check.

So she watched Adam run through the security footage, which for the most part was grainy and unreadable until he worked his magic. Eventually however, he got a usable visual and, when they combined that with the prints Stella had found on the counter at the bodega, they had a suspect to pick up: Shareef Asker.

Ella went with Danny to corner him, and after a fierce period of interrogation Shareef admitted he had been paid to take out Alex Hernandez, who had owed Shareef's client some money. The two men were in lock-up within an hour of Shareef confessing.

Ella had never experienced a rush quite like it. She flew down the corridor as though wings were attached to her feet, the earlier drama with Flack forgotten. In fact, she was so elated that she failed to notice the person coming around the corner until she had crashed into them.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she exclaimed. "I should have been-"

She trailed off with a gasp of recognition. The coffee-skinned man's face split into a grin and he placed a hand on her waist to steady her. Unconsciously, Ella's hand found the patch of dressing taped to her stomach.

"Well if it isn't Supergirl," the doctor said in a soft, delicious voice. "How's the war wound?"

"Not too bad, thanks to you," Ella replied, throwing him a glowing glance.

"And the dream job?"

Ella pulled a face.

"That good, huh?"

"Don't get me wrong," Ella sighed tiredly. "The work is amazing, and most of the people are great. I guess I just… hit a speed bump," she finished cryptically. The doctor, whose name escaped her, looked quizzically at her.

"Do I want to know?"

"I doubt it," she said with a shaky laugh. He nodded knowingly and, with a sudden jolt, removed his hand from her waist. The space where it had been tingled from the contact.

"I had no idea your dream job was being a cop," he grinned.

"An _NYPD _cop," corrected Ella."

"Well, I figured you were more of an arty type. Photographer maybe, or an artist."

Ella snorted. "I haven't got an arty bone in my body! Why, do I look like that sort of soft touch?" She planted her hands on her hips, feigning discontent, but the twitch of her lips gave her away.

"I guess not," he amended, smiling. "So, how're you liking New York?"

"Everyone keeps asking me that, but the truth is I haven't seen very much of it. Too busy getting stabbed and fighting crime to see the sights."

"Spoken like a true superhero," grinned the doctor. "But it _is _a pity you haven't seen the city yet, it's amazing. Tell you what, how about I take you on the night tour? New York is incredible by night."

"That sounds great," Ella said wistfully. "But I've actually got plans… I'm eating with Danny and Lindsay tonight."

"Oh," he said. Ella noted that he looked slightly crestfallen, and for some reason her spirits soared.

"How about tomorrow night?" she suggested hopefully.

"It's a date."

He made to continue down the hallway, then stopped in his tracks and faced her once more.

"I guess if we're going to be working together, we should be formally introduced. Again."

Ella grinned roguishly and strode up to him, sticking out her hand to grasp his. "Ella Fitzgerald, badass superhero and NYPD detective extraordinaire."

"Sheldon Hawkes," he responded, and she remembered his surname from the night before. "Crime scene investigator and rescuer of supposedly-badass detectives."

They shared a grin and a firm handshake before Sheldon broke away.

"I have to get down to autopsy to see if Sid's got anything for me," he said apologetically. Ella smirked.

"Sounds glamorous… Have fun!"

She turned on her heel and walked back down the corridor. She was about to turn the corner when she heard Sheldon's voice ring out once more.

"See you tomorrow, Supergirl!"

Ella hugged her arms to her chest and decided to head back to her apartment, thinking that she might just have experienced the best possible ending to a first day at work…

* * *

**Like it? Hate it? Whichever it is, just press that little button and… REVIEW! Pretty please with your chosen CSI character on top?**

**And don't forget to tell me what you thought of the lyrics/ The Coronas if you look them up… Go on, make my Seachtain na Gaeilge!**


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